There are dead flowers in the window
Decaying petals falling down
Curled like a saddened lip
Still I find it so beautiful
Not in some morbid fascination
But in that all is in fact beautiful
The wilting steam, bowing head
Bends to times eternal passing
The heart sees not death
But a flower still beautiful
And in all of this artistry
We live and we breathe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem